


Not Okay

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the line for John and Dave. The latter is trying to convince the former that everything is going to be all right, but in truth, neither of them believe that. </p>
<p>Game over, man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Okay

You didn't know where everyone else was. The universe had suddenly shrunken down to you and John, like some kind of a reverse Big Bang. A Tiny Bang. 

Which is what you and John were going out on. A Tiny Bang. Hell, not even a bang. More like a sloppy, bloody fart. But that's fucking nasty. Not like death wasn't nasty. It's pretty nasty when it's happening to you. 

But you guess death is a nasty thing to look at too. As gross and uncomfortable as it is to feel the coolness of the space around chilling the exposed meat and intestine running along the lengths of your body it's much worse to watch John twitch and splash and burble in the darkness of paradox space. Or wherever you two had ended up after English had decided to tear you a couple hundred new assholes. 

You'd figured this shit to be heroic. You don't really recall what had happened in those last couple of moments before English had wasted you both. This  _feels_  heroic, definitely. It's long and drawn out enough to feel heroic. 

Shit, it feels heroic but you are really slacking on the melodrama. John hasn't said a word, just gasped and choked and sobbed his strength away. You guess you better start. Dang, Egbert, always gotta leave it up to the Strider to initiate. Like usual. 

He's missing one finger, you think, or maybe you just can't find it. Whatever. You grab onto what you can. You turn your head until it flops to the side, allowing you to see John better. He's looking straight up, tears running down from the peak of his face. His blue uniform is all shredded and bloody and his ribs are popping out of his shirt. God, poor kid, poor fucking kid he needs you right now, he needs something to help him through this. You rub his knuckle with a peeling fingertip. 

"John, hey, you listen here. It's gonna be okay."

He sniffles real loud. But his finger curls a little weakly against yours, so you keep going. 

"Them girls, and everyone else, they got it and they can do it. A'ight? It'll be okay John, don't worry about it anymore it'll be okay. Man, maybe we'll even go to the place where all your favorite actors from all your favorite shitty movies went when the Earth got wasted. Though I gotta say I'm pretty sure McConaughey is down there burning--though maybe we're getting sent down to dance with the devil in the red pajamas too. I did rip off the tag off my mattress when I was a kid."

Your fingers stick against his. Too much blood drying all at once. Oh well.

"Anyway, what I'm saying is, John, is that we don't gotta worry, it'll be okay, it's all gonna be okay--" 

" _No_ ," John says. His fingers flinch away from yours. You splutter a bit and more wetness seeps between you teeth. 

"No?" If you had the strength to cock your head, you would have. John manages to turn his head a bit, though, and you can see that the previously hidden side of his face is just  _all_  bloody. It's a lot worse than the part of his chest and stomach you could see. You think that might be brain. You don't think long. 

"Don't---don't you do that, cool guy, don't you sit there and tell me that it's going to be okay."

Tears are welling up in his eyes. Shit, this is  _awful_. His face is torn open and he's bleeding and you're bleeding and how awful, how horrible. 

"I'm not stupid I'm not--I'm not--we're dying and it hurts and we're not okay and Dave it is not okay."

Your fingers slacken a little bit in his. Your mouth feels like rubber as you try to process what he said and try to think of something to reassure him. But your mind's become just as plastic as your tongue so you just say:

"Yeah."

Because it's true. You don't have the strength left in your fingers to grasp for straws any longer. 

You clutch his hand tightly, as tightly as you can manage, and your own eyes are growing hot. You try to speak and your voice box turns into a motor trying to sputter into life. Finally you wet your tongue and manage to start up. Everything tastes like metal and vomit. 

"You're right. It's not okay. It's not okay. It's not okay. It ain't never gonna be okay again."

You want him to be comforted even though this is awful, even though this is the worse damn thing that could happen to you. But he's not stupid and he knows, he knows you're lying when you tell him this is okay, that it's not terrifying and  _awful_. 

Oh dear sweet Jesus, it's so damn dark. There's nothing above you, and nothing below you. Nothing after you either. 

There's not going to be anything,  _ever_  again. You close your eyes and there won't be anything, not John bleeding next to you and not even yourself. 

What do you do, what do you say? What do you say to him? What the hell do you even say to yourself?

You needed John to be okay, but he's not. He's not and it's reminding you of just how not okay you are. 

Your lips are so damn dry and you feel like your throat is covered in latex. This is horrible, this is  _horrible_. Your guts are freezing. This isn't okay. But something has to,  _has_  to be okay. 

You scramble for a better hold on John's fingers. One of them definitely is no longer attached to his hand. That's fine. You need something. You have something. 

"It--though, it--it  _was_  okay, wasn't it? Before-- _before_ , it was okay, right? When you and me, when we--it was okay."

John seems to smile a bit. He closes his eyes and offers you one final chuckle for closure. 

"Yeah. Then. It was okay."

Blood dribbles. Your intestines quiver. You close your eyes too. 

Nothing above you, nothing below you. Nothing after you. 

Nothing behind you but  _okay_ , but the simple chime and the music of that word. 


End file.
